


Message From the Dead

by elrhiarhodan



Series: Recompense [3]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Edging, Eobard Thawne has infinite ways to torment Barry Allen, Harry Wells has an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, Harry Wells loves Barry Allen, Jesse Quick is Awesome, Jesse and Barry are running buddies, M/M, Shibari, Slash, Smut, barrison, bathing porn, former EoBarry, fucked out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:20:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6453307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set about five months after the end of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6114061">You Are Not Alone in This</a>, Barry gets an unexpected visit from the attorney representing the Harrison Wells Living Trust.  It seems that there's another message for him, and this time, he's only got forty-eight hours to watch it.  And like the first video that Eobard Thawne left for him, Barry can't bear watch it alone.  It's a good thing that Harry won't let him.</p><p>The story, as posted, is complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the "Seduction of Barry Allen" 'verse, and a continuation of the relationship that started in [Recompense](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5965450), although this can be read as a stand-alone story, and except for the romantic relationship and the return of speedster Jesse to her father's loving arms, it is mostly canon compliant up to 2.17 – Flash Back.
> 
>  **Spoilers** : S2.01 – The Man Who Saved Central City, S2.17 – Flash Back  
>  **Warnings/Enticements/Triggers** : Reference to canon deaths of canon characters, consensual BDSM play

"Dad?"

Harry looked up from his laptop to find Jesse standing in front of him, holding a spoon not quite dripping red sauce. "Want me to be your taste-tester?"

"Yup."

"Should I be worried?"

"It's just canned tomatoes, grated onions, garlic and salt. Nothing that will kill you."

"Or so you think." Harry grinned and took the spoon. He raised an eyebrow at his daughter when she cautioned him that it was hot. Of course, a dollop of sauce landed on his shirt and he glared at her. "You know, those speedster powers would have come in very handy a second ago."

"Is that something Barry does for you, protect your clothes when you have a hole in your lip?" But to her credit, she zipped back into the kitchen and brought back a damp paper towel for him to clean the spot off. 

Harry tasted the sauce, and it was surprisingly good. Over the past couple of months, Jesse had subjected him to more than a few culinary horrors, insisting that they had to eat something other than Big Belly Burgers. He wasn't so sure about that. But he did have a rule, if it made Jesse happy and it wasn't putting her in harm's way, he was all for it.

"So?" She stood there, her lip caught between her teeth. "How is it?"

"Not bad, not bad at all. Actually, pretty good."

The praise earned him a huge smile. 

"So, spaghetti and meatballs?" He had smelled the enticing aroma of browning meat earlier.

"Nope, lasagna."

"That's ambitious."

"Do you know how much spaghetti I'd have to make to satisfy two speedster's caloric requirements?"

That was a rhetorical question, but the math was pretty simple. "About seven pounds each?"

"Exactly! And who would want to eat seven pounds of spaghetti? Ugh."

"I hate to tell you, but I've seen what you and Barry consume on a daily basis. Seven pounds of spaghetti doesn't even come close to the 'ugh' factor. But lasagna is good. As long as it's not the vegetarian kind. With eggplant." He let out an over-exaggerated shudder.

Jesse shook her head in mock annoyance. "As if I'd do that to you. Now off to master the béchamel sauce."

Harry watched his daughter speed back to the kitchen – or, more accurately, watched the trail of silver lightning she left behind - and thought, _life is good_. It still shocked him how good it was. There had been bumps along the way – some he'd made through his own stupidity, some brought on by external forces – but overall, it was good. He found himself smiling most of the time, a state he hadn't experienced since the early days of his life with Tessa and then after Jesse was born.

Unlike those times, Harry couldn't ever quite stop worrying that this feeling, this happiness, was all too fragile. That it would break apart like a dandelion in a spring breeze. Maybe it was age and a lifetime of experience teaching him just how transient happiness was. 

But he refused to let his own insecurities get in the way, that would only bring about the end that he was trying so hard to avoid.

Of course, it neither hurt nor helped that Barry was equally insecure, and perhaps even more damaged than he was. 

Harry sighed and tried to put all of that out of his head and concentrate on the task at hand – unwinding a rather cumbersome licensing agreement with the government for a very profitable piece of technology. The lawyers were the ones doing the actual sorting, but he needed to identify which patents were affected. It was tedious and annoying, especially since he wasn't really the inventor and had no memories of the actual specs to draw upon.

Once upon a time, he had minions (and not the little yellow kind) to do this work. And once upon a time, he was a miserable, almost-evil bastard who loved nothing except his daughter and progress, until the later nearly cost him the former. 

All in all, the lack of minions was more than compensated by the love and satisfaction he got from his life here.

The research was slow, but he was making progress when he was suddenly booted out of the patent database managed by the Harrison Wells Living Trust. Instead of a massive spreadsheet on display, there was a big red bar across the screen, "ACCESS DENIED."

_What the ever-loving fuck?_

He'd had problems with the database before, and had a direct line to the tech department of the law firm where the Trust was managed. The imposter had done things right, and the firm was probably making a bundle from the Trust, but at least he could get this problem resolved without too much hair-pulling.

Harry called and patiently explained the problem, figuring it was an expired password.

The young man on the other end was distinctly unhelpful. _"One moment, please hold"_.

He held and was forced to listen to the most god-awful music. Eight minutes and sixteen seconds later, someone came on the line.

"Listen, can you do a password reset or am I going to have to come down there and show you how to turn your system on?"

 _"With whom am I speaking with?"_ The voice on the other end was cool and slightly condescending, not one that would belong to the average helpdesk worker.

"Harris– " Damn, he almost forgot. That wasn't a mistake he could afford to make. "Harry Chambers, CTO of S.T.A.R. Labs."

_"Ah, Doctor Chambers, I'm sorry that you are experiencing access problems."_

"Who am _I_ speaking to?"

_"Greg Turk, one of the attorneys representing the Harrison Wells Living Trust."_

"Why are you on this call? All I need is a password reset."

_"Actually, Doctor Chambers, that's not why your access to the database has been terminated."_

"Excuse me?"

_"The terms of the Trust have certain requirements, and there will be consequences if these requirements aren't met. In the Trustees' discretion, those consequences can be accelerated to compel compliance. Based on our prior experience with the beneficiary and his reluctance to cooperate with the Trust rules, the Trustees have authorized prophylactically initiated shutdown of certain Trust functions until the Trust requirements are met."_

"What the hell are you talking about?"

 _"Please contact the beneficiary for further information. I am not at liberty to say anything more. Goodbye."_ The line went dead.

This wasn't good.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Three Hours Earlier**

It was a very rare, very beautiful day. The sun was shining; the air had that perfect late-autumn crispness, the sky was so blue it hurt to look at it. There had been no meta-human activity to deal with for a few weeks, and even the regular human criminal element of Central City seemed to be on a vacation. And for the first time in four months, he was fully caught up on all the reports and analyses and lab work that defined his days as a CSI.

Which meant that the world was about to end. Barry chuckled to himself and dismissed that thought. If he ever said anything like that, Harry would likely throw something at him.

No, today was a good day in a good week. In a good month, for that matter. He was almost ridiculously happy. 

And it was Friday, which meant dinner with Harry and Jesse, who was doing the cooking. She'd mentioned Italian and Barry figured it couldn't be that bad. Although the Pad Thai he'd been subjected to last week had been so awful that he couldn't even pretend to enjoy it. Thankfully, Jesse hadn't been shy about admitting to a culinary failure and the two of them zipped into town to pick up a massive order of sushi.

Harry hadn't been happy with their choice of a substitute meal, but his complaints had been easily stopped when Jesse produced a bag from Big Belly Burger.

A knock on the door broke his train of thought. Barry looked up to find a vaguely familiar looking man in a suit – a suit too well-tailored for a member of the CCPD.

"Barry Allen?"

"Yes."

"Of course you are. I don't know if you remember me."

Barry shook his head. "Your face is familiar."

"Greg Turk, from Weathersby and Stone, we represent the Trustees for the – "

Now Barry remembered. "Harrison Wells Living Trust." He didn't bother with courtesy. "What do you want?"

"It's been two years since your last communication from the Trust."

"Not quite. I've frequently been in touch with the Trust about a lot of issues relating to S.T.A.R. Labs."

"Yes, you've dealt with my associates about salary and benefits for S.T.A.R. Labs employees, legal issues relating to patents, and arranging the occupancy of the residential property, but that's not quite what I mean. You've been working with the Trustees' administrative staff, not with the Trust itself. Doctor Wells made certain provisions for regular communication. Stipulations that must be met for the continuing disbursement of funds, as well as access to the residential property."

Barry didn't like the sound of this. "What do you mean?"

Turk handed him an envelope and a thumb drive similar to the one he'd gotten two years ago – only this one had a timer on it, and it was already counting down. "The instructions in the letter are self-explanatory, Mr. Allen. Have a good day."

At that, the man left.

He carefully put the drive down and opened the letter. The attorney was correct, the instructions were clear. If he did not watch the video contained on the drive within forty-eight hours, all payroll disbursements would permanently cease. If he delayed by more than a week, eviction proceedings would commence on the residential property. The letter also noted that the Trust had given the Trustees wide power to ensure the beneficiary's compliance, and these were the incentives that the Trustees had selected.

Barry wanted to burn the letter, smash that drive. He wanted to run back in time and stop Thawne from playing this sick game. Except he had already gone back in time, and had been unable to stop him when his mother's life had been at stake.

Just like that, his beautiful day crashed. He couldn't even go home and hide – a call came in and he was needed at a crime scene.

It took almost two hours to collect evidence. It was a multiple homicide involving guns and drugs, crimes more likely found in Star City than here. But regardless of the crime, regardless of his emotional state, Barry still had a job to do.

"You okay, kid?" Vukovitch, lead on this investigation and someone Barry had known for years, gave him a worried look. "You seem kind of out of it."

Barry smiled and shook his head. "No, I'm fine." He walked the detective and a few other officers through the scene; focusing on the violence in front of him made it easier to forget about the violence he wanted to commit.

He hitched a ride back to the station with Vukovitch and processed the evidence, managing not to look at the letter and thumb drive for at least another hour. He had forty-five hours to go before doomsday. 

A little less than two days.

Barry had to laugh at the irony, the last time he was under a forty-eight hour countdown, the world nearly ended. 

Work done, the last of the autumn daylight fading, Barry stared at the letter and the thumb drive. He was supposed to have dinner with Harry and Jesse tonight, but there was no way he could manage to put on a smile and pretend.

Harry would pick at him – not with words, but with concerned glances. He'd deflect and put off and Jesse would realize something was wrong but she wouldn't ask. The evening would be miserable and he'd run home. Chances were better-than-even that Harry would let him stew for a day or two, show up in leather and try to fuck him out of his sulk.

It would be easy to let that happen, but Barry knew that it would take more than a few days and a hard fuck to get over whatever was on that thumb drive. Last time Harrison Wells spoke to him from the dead, his head was messed up for months.

There was too much at stake now. Too much love and trust and need to push aside because he couldn't _deal_.

Barry pocketed the letter and the drive and headed out to see two of the people he loved the most in the world.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Three Hours Later**

Harry was no longer a man who was very good at hiding his feelings. At least with the people he cared about. He couldn't work; he felt too unfocused and anxious for anything constructive, and had been pacing around the living room for the last hour.

So it was inevitable that Jesse would notice something was wrong, and equally inevitable that she'd press at him until he gave in and told her what was the matter.

"Dad, what's going on?"

He stared at his daughter and resigned himself to the inevitable inquisition. "If I could tell you, I would."

"Is it about Barry?"

Jesse was his child, but the truth was, she wasn't a child anymore and she deserved more than a pat on the head and being fobbed off with a bit of polite fiction. This was, after all, her life, too.

"A few hours ago, I got some strange news that involves Barry. I'm not sure what it means. And I'm not sure how to ask him about it."

Jesse was shocked by his candor. "Do you want me to ask him?"

"No, don't, sweetheart. It's possible he doesn't even know what's going on."

"Okay, but – "

"No buts, Jesse. Please. I'm trusting you with this." He tried to sound as stern and fatherly as possible. To his shock, it worked.

"Okay, I'll play dumb, but you know Barry. He's probably not going to say anything and spend the evening pretending everything's normal. You're going to get frustrated and start snapping at him, or worse, shut down, too. Then it's going to be weeks of awkwardness and unhappiness. I am definitely not looking forward to that." She gave him a hug. "Try not to screw this up, Dad. I like it when you're happy."

He hugged her back. "I'll try. I like being happy, too."

Jesse kissed his cheek and disappeared back into the kitchen. The lasagna smelled good, but the anxiety was killing his appetite. 

His phone buzzed with an incoming message, from Barry. _See you in about two minutes or less._

The doorbell rang and the security camera app popped up. It seemed like the "or less" was more accurate than the "two minutes." 

Harry pasted a welcoming smile on his face, reminded himself not to be overbearing and demanding, and opened the door. Only to be overwhelmed by Barry, who greeted him with a kiss.

And not just a welcoming kiss, but a passionate kiss that reminded Harry that they were sexual and emotional equals, that age and speed were irrelevant. He vaguely heard the door shut, but he certainly felt himself getting slammed against it. Not painfully hard, just hard enough. Barry had him pinned, but his hands were cupping his face and he was still kissing him. 

Harry let the kiss go on for endless heartbeats, giving in to his passivity until he could give no more. Then he grabbed Barry's head, not to pull him away, but to thread his fingers through that windswept mop of hair. He shifted his hips and used his slightly greater mass to spin his lover around – an easy maneuver made easier by Barry's willingness to be pushed. Now the aggressor, he ground his body against Barry's, relishing the faint remnants of the speed force still clinging to him like perfume.

"Ahem."

Harry didn't break off contact with Barry, he didn't move away from the door where he had Barry pinned. But he did end the kiss and looked over his shoulder at his daughter, who was standing there, her arms crossed and a huge smirking grin on her face. 

"You bedroom is that way." She pointed with a wooden spoon. "And lasagna's always better after it sets for a few hours."

Harry turned back to Barry with a questioning look. Barry shrugged himself loose. "Actually, I'm kind of hungry now." At Jesse's raised eyebrow, Barry added, "For lasagna. It does smell pretty good."

"Better than last week's Pad Thai, that's for sure."

Barry refused to pull his punches. "It's a good thing you don't have a dog to feed leftovers to, because the poor creature might have died."

"I'm sure you've had your own share of culinary disasters, Mr. Allen," Jesse snarked back.

"Not ones when I've added eight tablespoons of chili flakes instead of an eighth of a teaspoon. That error doesn't even make sense."

Jesse sniffed, unable to come back with a suitable riposte. "Just for that, you're going to set the table. Come on."

Barry started to follow Jesse, but Harry grabbed him. "We'll be there in a minute, sweetheart."

Jesse just shook her head and kept on walking, but she wasn't leaving without getting in the last word, calling out, "Bedroom's to the left."

Barry smiled, but that smile dropped when he saw Harry's expression, and he decided not to dance around the issue. "I spoke with a Greg Turk from the Trust's law office today. I had called because I couldn't get access to the patent database. He told me that there's something you need to do for the Trust and this is a measure to ensure your compliance. Do you know what this is about?"

Barry closed his eyes and wiped his face. "That guy certainly got around today. He stopped by my office with instructions from the Trust, but didn't mention that he'd spoken to you. Not that it matters."

"What's going on?" 

"Can we enjoy the evening? Have dinner, watch a movie, forget about this for a couple of hours?"

"Barry?"

"Please, Harry." He took his hands. "Just a couple of more hours, that's all I'm asking."

"It's Thawne, isn't it?" Harry shook his head. "Of course it is. It's his damn Trust. What strings is he pulling now?"

There was such a look of devastation on Barry's face that Harry wished he could retract that question. "Never mind. Whatever you need to do can wait, as long as you need it to." He ran his fingers down Barry's cheek, resting them for a moment on his lips. "But if you want to fool my daughter into thinking there's nothing wrong, you're going to have to smile like you mean it."

"That was my plan when I kissed you before. Nothing bad can ever happen when I've got the taste of you on my lips." Barry then turned bright red – as red as his suit. "And now I sound like a total dork."

Harry smiled. "No, you're very sweet and romantic and more than a little dirty. And you can have the taste of me on your lips any time, so long as my child isn't going to walk in on us." He winked. "If you know what I mean."

That got a small chuckle from Barry. And a genuine smile.

He tugged at Barry. "Come on, my daughter's a tyrant."

Barry agreed, "But of the most benevolent sort."


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the thumb drive and letter burning a hole in his pocket, Barry let himself enjoy dinner. He was unstinting in his praise of Jesse's cooking, which was probably unnecessary, since he'd polished off half a tray of lasagna without hardship.

It was highly possible that Jesse knew something was up when she passed on the offer to watch a movie. Or maybe she was just giving him the business when she suggested that based on his earlier performance, he and her dad should just retire early and spare her eyes.

Harry nodded and once the dishes were cleaned up, Jesse and retreated to her suite. Harry stood there, hands tucked in his pockets, muscles bulging across his chest and arms, looking nothing like a physicist and father and everything like some overgrown bad boy. 

Barry had forty-three hours left, and there was no point in wasting any of them.

Harry held out his hand. "To bed?"

Barry nodded, but before he followed Harry down the hall, he took the letter and thumb drive out of his pocket, set both next to Harry's laptop and shifted a pile of folders over them. Crap like this didn't belong in the bedroom.

Harry didn't comment and Barry hoped that he'd hold onto his curiosity for a little while longer.

The bedroom Harry had taken occupancy of nearly a year ago had become a reflection of the man himself – dark, a little messy, and full of intriguing contradictions. Maybe it was a reaction to the four months he'd spent sleeping on a cot in a storage room at S.T.A.R. Labs, but the bed and bedding here were sinfully luxurious. 

"What do you need from me tonight?" Harry stood behind him, wrapped his arms around his waist, and rested his head on his shoulder. "Whatever it is, I'll give it to you."

Barry rested his hands over Harry's, almost overwhelmed by love. "Take me apart tonight. Break me down and rebuild me. I don't care how; just do what you have to. Make me stronger, Harry. Make me better." He hated how weak and needy he sounded.

But Harry didn't seem to care. "You are strong and good, Barry. You don't need me to tell you that."

"But I do." Barry ducked his head, hating himself at that moment. Behind him, he felt Harry breathing, felt the strength of his heartbeat. He relished the binding of those arms and had a small epiphany. "Tie me up."

And then he felt the shocked intake of Harry's breath, the sudden flash of heat and arousal.

"Are you sure?" There was just a touch of uncertainty and a whole lot of longing in Harry's question.

"Yes, please."

Harry stepped away and Barry was chilled.

"Strip." Harry's command, the sternness of it, sent a heated flush through him. He got out of his clothes and folded them carefully. He stood still, waiting for instructions.

Harry had pulled back the covers and pointed at the mattress. "Kneel on the bed, thighs spread, hands on your knees."

Barry did as ordered, shivering at the intensity of Harry's gaze.

Harry turned around and opened a drawer, and when he turned back, Barry gasped. Harry was holding lengths of bright red rope in both hands. Barry didn't say anything, letting his body's reaction speak for itself. 

"Do you know how much I've wanted to do this to you?" Harry let the ropes drape through his hands. 

"Why didn't you ask?"

"Because – " Harry shook his head. "Because I'm emotionally constipated and not really at ease talking about my kinks. I envy you in that, how you are so comfortable in your sexuality, how well you understand your boundaries and limits and how willing you are to go beyond them."

Barry wanted to laugh; this conversation was so strange, but yet so important. "Never be afraid to ask for what you want."

Harry's lips twisted in a tiny, self-deprecating smile. "Easier said than done, you know that."

Barry nodded. "Are you going to tie me up, or just fondle the rope?"

"You're a mouthy brat, you know that?"

"I aim to please."

Harry's gaze softened. "That, Barry Allen, you certainly do." He let out a small sigh. "Do you know what _kinbaku_ is?"

Barry shook his head. "It sounds Japanese."

"It is, it means 'tight binding' and it's considered an art form."

"Which you are a master of."

"No, not really. Mastery requires time and practice, and I've had the opportunity for neither. But I've studied it and I find it … appealing. It is something I think you will enjoy, too."

"The red ropes – you bought those for me?"

"Yes." Harry sucked in his breath. "I've pictured this too many times." Even in the dim bedroom light, Barry could see the flush of desire and embarrassment.

"Tell me what you need me to do."

"Give me your safe word."

"What?"

"Your safe word, you know what that is?"

"Yes, of course, but why would you need it? I trust you."

"We're not psychically linked, Allen. I'm not going to know when I've gone too far."

"You know I can phase through those ropes, right?"

Harry closed his eye and shook his head. "Of course you can. But you also need to be in a mental state where you can actually do that. Please give me your safe word."

Barry hated giving safe words, not because he didn't like the practice, but because he could never think of a good word. 

"I'm waiting."

Barry rolled his eyes and said the first thing that came to mind, "Chronicle."

"Very good." Harry dropped the rope on the bed. "There is no shame in using it, Barry. The last thing I want to do is harm you."

"I know." Barry reached out and curved a hand around Harry's neck. "I love you and I trust you. I need this tonight. And I think you do, too." He kissed him before letting go.

"Okay, okay." Harry took off his glasses and his watch, paused for a moment before pulling off his shirt and undershirt, then his pants and shorts.

Barry let out a little sigh of pleasure.

Harry heard and grinned. "See something you like, Allen?"

"Hell, yeah."

"Hands behind your back." Harry's tone changed back to one of stern command and he picked up one length of rope and began the binding. The rope cut into his skin and muscle but the burn was good, and became better as it multiplied with each pass. 

Harry pulled and wove and manipulated Barry into an awkward position, shoulders against the mattress, with both hands tied flat against his back and his legs splayed and tied calf-to-thigh. He was helpless, immobile, and on the verge of safe-wording. But he was also massively erect and leaking like a sieve. Barry felt that a single touch could set him off – into orgasm or into uncontrolled panic.

He reminded himself that this was what he wanted, for Harry to take him apart, to destroy him and rebuilt him. He _needed_ this, to surrender utterly.

"Barry?" Harry touched his cheek. "Are you all right?"

His tongue felt thick, almost useless. He blinked.

"Barry?" Harry's face came into focus and there was too much worry in his expression.

"I'm good. Really good."

Harry relaxed and smiled. "Good." He skimmed his fingers over his flesh, where the ropes were biting into his skin. "You are so beautiful, and even more beautiful like this." 

Barry tried to writhe, to deepen that contact. "More, please."

"More what?" 

"Harder, touch me harder."

Harry pressed on his chest, just at the edge of a complex binding below his nipple, scratching his fingernails along the length of rope and skin.

Barry moaned and he could feel the lightning start to gather. He wanted to vibrate in his pleasure but held back. Then Harry pinched his nipple and Barry arched his back, practically levitating off the mattress. He could feel his heart beating in every pore, like he was about to explode.

Harry pressed him back down into the mattress, pinning him with one hand while his mouth worked wicked magic, biting and licking at every section of exposed skin. Barry was shivering, struggling to retain some ounce of control.

"You want to come, don't you?" Harry's voice, a harsh whisper, put even more wear on those fraying threads of his control.

"Yes, please. Please let me come."

"How many times?"

"What?"

"How many times can you come, Barry?"

_Oh, god._

Harry licked his nipple, then nipped it. "Tell me, how many times can you come?"

Barry couldn't quite believe Harry wanted to play this game. "Four?"

Harry laughed, his breath a torment against his damp skin. "You can come four times just jacking off in the shower. How many times do you want to come tonight, on my cock?"

Barry panted and tried to think, but it was too difficult. "Seven? Is seven good?"

"I don't know, you tell me?"

He bit his lip. "Make me come seven times, you bastard. On your cock."

Harry laughed again. "You're going to kill me, Barry Allen. You know that, right?"

"Why?" 

"I'm not the multi-orgasmic one in this relationship. And I'm fifty-two."

Barry wheezed a laugh, which was hard with the bindings and the awkward position. "Well, you're the one who asked for a number and got a little snarky when I offered four."

"True." Harry kissed him, slowly and with great care, then disappeared from view again. Barry heard a drawer open and close and Harry came back into his line of sight, dangling a bright blue piece of silicone – a cock ring. "Let's see how long we both can last."

Harry thoughtfully stayed within his line of sight as he fitted himself through the device, and Barry wanted to come just from watching Harry handle himself.

"Okay." But now that Barry had that number in his head, he knew he wouldn't be able to really let go until he hit it.

Harry tossed something on the bed next to his hip, probably lube. Then he pulled him towards the edge, his splayed thighs and bound calves were almost hanging off the bed, but that position left him exposed, more accessible. Harry stopped and asked, "Would you prefer to be on stomach? You might be more comfortable."

Barry thought about it. "No, I'd rather see you."

"Good, because I want to see you, too. I want to be able to touch you freely, to watch your face as I break you apart and built you back up again. That's what you want, right?"

Barry moaned at his lover's words. "Yes. Please."

Harry prepped him with as much care as he had in binding him with the ropes. Barry wanted to come just from Harry's second and third fingers stretching him, but the agreement was that he could only come on Harry's cock.

"Are you ready?"

Barry arched as much as the bindings would allow. "Yes. Please, please fuck me."

Harry's hands were on his thighs, his fingers pulling his cheeks apart, adding a bit more slick, and finally, his cock touched his hole. Barry let himself go as the head breached him and Harry gasped as his ass clamped down from orgasm. "That's one."

"I think I hate you."

Barry couldn't help but laugh. "You have no one to blame but yourself."

"True." Harry pressed forward until he was balls-deep inside him. "If you're going to come again, this would be a good time." He grasped his cock with lube-slicked fingers and stroked him. 

"Harry!"

"This isn't an endurance competition. At least not for you."

"Again, whose fault is that?"

For his mouthiness, Harry stroked him again, and this time, accompanied the maneuver with a twist of his hips in counter-motion to the twist of his wrist. "Come on, Barry. Come."

On that last word, Harry's voice deepened, took on that tone of command that Barry found impossible to resist.

"That's two."

After that, Harry stopped being so polite. He let himself go, hammering into him and Barry lost count of how many times he came, if he came at all. He felt himself falling apart and yet strangely whole – not unlike falling into and out of the speed force in the same heartbeat. He became all sensation, without intellect or reason. He couldn't move except for the will and the hands of the man on top of him and he loved it, he relished this utter surrender to Harry and his own power.

Barry felt one of Harry's hands at their joining and whimpered when Harry pulled out. But it was only removing the binding around his cock, and now free, when he pushed back in, it felt like he had grown even larger, harder, hitting all the pleasure points until his whole body felt like it was one wholly unified erogenous zone. He was falling apart under Harry's hands, pierced on Harry's cock, falling into a universe where he only existed for this man's pleasure.

Then Harry pushed him back onto the bed and he was over him, pressing him into the mattress, seizing his mouth, consuming him. He buried his face in Barry's neck, biting him hard in time with his thrusts and another orgasm poured out of him. 

Suddenly, it was too much. Harry's weight, his heat, the bindings, his own head, he couldn't take it anymore and he started to panic, but he couldn't move, he couldn't push Harry off, and in helpless desperation, he whispered, "Chronicle". 

His safe word.

And everything stopped.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

A few heartbeats after he'd finally orgasmed, Harry heard Barry whisper his safe word. He didn't know what to feel about that, but he knew what to do.

He eased himself out of Barry's body, wincing a little as the tight muscles clung to his cock. "Barry? Are you okay?"

Barry's eyes were unfocused, the pupils blown, and he didn't answer.

Harry didn't force a response, instead focusing on removing the ropes, making his lover comfortable before bringing him out of the zone.

In different circumstances, Harry would have enjoyed seeing Barry still bound and all fucked out, his body coated in sweat and semen. He would have taken as much time in loosening the bindings as he had in creating them, but not now. He needed to make Barry comfortable. With the ropes off, he eased Barry's arms and legs out of the stressful positions, gently rubbing at the lines left on his skin. He sighed at his own renewed arousal – the marks were beautiful, bright scarlet against pale flesh, but they'd fade soon enough. Barry's speedster metabolism ensured that.

He knelt on the bed, stroking Barry's face until his lover's eyes focused. "Hey there."

Barry smiled slowly. "Hey."

He asked again, "You okay?"

"Couldn't be better, thank you." Barry blinked, eyelids falling and rising like lazy butterfly wings.

"How about a bath?"

"Mmm, sure. If you'll share it with me."

"I'd be delighted." He kissed Barry on the tip of his nose. "Don't go anywhere."

"I don't think I ever want to move again."

Harry chuckled, wondering how long that feeling would last in a speedster's metabolism. "I'll be right back."

"Good." Barry closed his eyes again, but was still smiling, clearly reveling in the endorphins.

Harry went into the en suite and started filling the massive tub, big enough for three adults. As he waited for it to fill, he sat on the edge and contemplated what just happened and how he felt about Barry using his safeword.

Yes, he'd told Barry that there was no shame in using it, that it was there for his protection, but he'd never thought he, himself, would take things to such a point where his partner would need to use it.

The warm water swirled in the tub, sending up fingers of steam into the cool air. Harry's thoughts were similarly vaporous and unformed. Barry had wanted the extreme – he wanted to be taken apart and put back together again. It was an interesting puzzle; did the very act of safe-wording mean he'd broken Barry? That he'd given his lover what he wanted, or had he really gone too far?

Or had he triggered something in Barry's head? He'd done that before, uttered careless words that resurrected the ghost of a man who didn't exist. Harry carefully shut the door on that train of thought, they were going to have to deal with Thawne soon enough.

"Hi there."

Harry looked up to find Barry leaning against the door, wearing nothing but his rope and bite marks.

"What are you doing up?"

"Got lonely." Barry still had that goofy, blissed-out smile on his face. "Came looking for you. You said something about a bath."

Harry gestured at the tub. "It's almost ready."

"Mmm." Barry was now examining himself in one of the mirrors. "Pretty. I'm so pretty like this." The marks from the ropes had faded from their original angry red, but were still visible and Barry was toying with the lines. "You are very good at this."

"I try." He held out his hand, and helped Barry into the tub.

"You're joining me, right?"

"Of course. You know I keep my promises."

Barry slid forward and Harry got in behind him. Barry leaned back against him and Harry thought that there might be no greater civilized pleasure than spooning with someone you loved in a steaming hot bathtub.

"Did I use my safe word?"

"You don't remember?" Harry kept tracing the marks the rope had left on Barry's chest, occasionally straying to his nipples, or skimming along his six-pack down to his navel.

"Not sure. I think I might have."

"You did, right after I came."

"Good."

"Good, how?"

"That you came – I lost count of my orgasms, though. Did I get to seven?"

He kissed Barry's neck and chuckled. "Try nine."

"Really?" He could feel Barry vibrate with pleasure and satisfaction.

"Yup."

"That's a record, I think." Barry rolled his head back and rested it against Harry's shoulder. "I'm sorry I ruined it, though."

"Ruined? How?"

"I used my safeword."

Harry kissed his lover's ear. "You did just what you were supposed to do. I told you, there's no shame in using it. Something I did or something in your head got to be too much."

"Yeah, that's exactly how I felt – too much pleasure, too much discomfort, too much sensation. But it really was what I wanted. I wanted to be taken apart like that, pushed over the edge. Thank you for that."

"And thank you, Barry. For trusting me." Harry felt something unknot in him, a bit of worry that he had gone too far, done something wrong.

"Mmmm, so we both really enjoyed ourselves."

"Yes, we did." Harry couldn't stop teasing at the rope marks.

"I have all the best ideas, don't I?"

There was a trap closing around him. Harry knew it but couldn't see it. So he temporized, "You do have good ideas."

"The best ideas."

"What do you want, brat?"

"You, those boots and leather pants and gloves and me in my suit. On your motorcycle."

Harry closed his eyes and said a prayer of thanks to enervating effects of hot water. "Hmmm, I think I could make that happen. But your suit? How will that work?"

"You'll figure it out."

"Your faith in me is touching, Allen."

"Wells, you're touching me."

Harry snorted. "And your puns are worse than terrible."

"Yeah, but you love 'em anyway."

"I love you." Harry pressed a kiss against Barry's temple. "Very much."


	3. Chapter 3

Barry rolled over and opened his eyes. His body ached – just a little – a rare sensation which he relished. He had no idea what time it was. Harry liked to set the windows to almost full black-out mode on the weekends, if just so they both could sleep past dawn.

He reached for his phone, but Harry wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close. "Where are you going."

"Nowhere. Just – " Harry's lips against the back of his neck, nuzzling his ear, kind of short-circuited his brain.

"Just … what?"

"Wanted to check the time. I'd promised Jesse that we'd go for a long run this morning. To Star City and back." He wasn't really asking for permission, but he knew that Harry would still want to have his say.

And he did. "Hmmm, as long as you stay away from the Arrow and his gang, it's okay." Harry continued to nuzzle at him.

"If you don't stop that, I'm not going to be able to face your daughter."

Harry sighed, grumbled a bit, and let go. "Later, then."

"Right, later." Barry was about to add, "we have all weekend" but then he remembered what was waiting for him, what he had to do at some point very soon. But he didn't say anything. Instead, he slipped out of bed and dressed in the spare running gear he kept at Casa Chambers.

He grabbed his phone on the way out of the bedroom and finally checked the time – it was a little after seven and the perfect time for a good run on an October morning. He found Jesse in the kitchen, scarfing down a salad bowl filled with her favorite sugared cereal. There was gallon of milk, a jumbo-sized box of Frosted Flakes and an equally large bowl waiting for him.

There was also a fresh pot of coffee on the brewer and his favorite mug next to it. This felt way too much like home.

He liked it.

"Morning." Jesse looked up from her tablet. "Do I even have to ask if you had a good night?"

"Nope, no need to ask."

"Dad still alive?"

Barry grinned. "He survived. Barely." Oh, it was so worth seeing Jesse turn bright red. "If you don't want to get embarrassed, don't ask embarrassing questions."

"Right…"

Barry sped through his cereal and Jesse gave him an annoyed look. "I still can't manage the whole speed-eating thing. I try but I get really sick. I don't think my metabolism has fully adapted to being a speedster yet." 

"You'll get there."

"It's been thirteen months, how much longer is it going to take? I feel like I'm not really getting anywhere."

Barry could hear the worry in Jesse's voice. After Trajectory injected her with the Velocity-9, Harry had given her a transfusion to get the poison out of her blood. A day later, Jesse had taken off – angry at her father for all the dark and desperate things he'd done to save her - but she didn't stay away for long. An agonizing month later, she'd run back from Opal City – literally – terrified at what was happening to her. Harry and the team had created a training regime and Jesse began to enjoy her new powers. But a little more than a year later, she seemed to have reached a plateau in her abilities. 

Harry was fine with that, but Jesse wasn't, and Barry was reluctant to interfere.

Jesse finally finished her cereal. "Ready?"

"Still up for a run to Star City and back?"

"Sounds good."

Muscles still loose from last night, Barry set an easy pace – about two hundred miles an hour - and Jesse kept up easily. Out of the city and circling the Badlands, she grinned at him and kicked it up to three hundred miles an hour, and Barry easily matched her stride for stride before accelerating to twice that speed. 

He could see Jesse struggling to keep up, but she kept pushing herself until she could maintain that pace. They finally reached the sign indicating Star City limits and came to a halt.

"You okay?" He had enjoyed the run more than he'd expected. This was the first time they'd travelled this far together at speed. They'd done short runs around Central City and usually went back and forth to Keystone on most weekends, which Barry enjoyed immensely. It was a pleasure to run with another speedster, especially one that wasn't trying to kill him.

"I'm great, really great. I wonder how fast we were going."

"About six hundred miles an hour."

Jesse gave him a puzzled look. "Really? How do you know that? How can you tell?"

"Mostly from being aware of my heart rate and how quickly I'm passing landmarks. It's something you'll pick up as you get more experience running in the world, rather than on the treadmill."

"That makes sense." Jesse scanned the Star City skyline. "Want to go visit the Arrow?"

"Actually, your dad gave pretty explicit instructions against doing that."

Jesse made a face. "He's such a spoilsport."

"He's overprotective for a reason."

"Yeah, I know. And I guess we should listen to him. He might kill someone else if I got hurt again."

"Jesse – " He'd once tried to talk to her about Russell Glossen, about what a horrible, evil man he was, but she didn't want to listen and frankly, Barry himself had trouble justifying Harry's actions. Because no matter how horrible and evil The Turtle was, he still didn't deserve to die.

"Come on, let's head home. If we're lucky, Dad will do the soprano line of _In Excelsis Deo_ from Vivaldi's _Gloria_ in our pancakes."

Barry thought that of all Harry's various and incredible skills, his ability to write music into pancakes was the weirdest and most charming one of all.

A little more than an hour later, they were back at the house, and as expected, Harry was in the kitchen, making pancakes. But instead of Vivaldi, he was doing the lyrics from _O Fortuna_ from _Carmina Burana_.

"Smells good." He kissed Harry on the back of the neck and filched one of the pancakes – _egestatem, potestatem_ – rolling it up and stuffing it in his mouth.

"Savage. You just ate "poverty and power". Now it's incomplete. " Harry frowned at the stack.

"Seriously? We're going to eat them anyway."

"But not until I've finished the lyrics."

Barry sighed. There were some things about his lover that he would never quite figure out.

As he headed back to the bedroom to shower and change, he couldn't but see the envelope and the thumb drive. He still had time before disaster was going to strike.

He'd take it to Harry and they'd watch it later.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

After breakfast, Harry announced that he was going to be in the garage, working on the engine for the vintage Indian motorcycle he'd recently acquired, and that Jesse and Barry could deal with the dishes.

"When you're done, I'll need you," he commanded Barry. This was standard operating procedure for Saturday breakfast. He cooked, they cleaned – usually a high speed – and then he and Barry worked on whatever mechanical project he had going in the garage for the next few hours.

Today, his motives were a little different. He wanted to get Barry – and whatever he'd gotten from the Harrison Wells Living Trust – out of the house and away from Jesse. He'd worried this morning that she'd try to pry some information out of Barry when they were running, but she seemed to have done as he'd begged and not said anything to him.

When he was alone, waiting for Barry and his daughter to return, he had looked at what Barry had left near his computer last night, a letter and a thumb drive, but he didn't touch, didn't read. As he walked out to the garage, Harry again ruthlessly suppressed his curiosity. Barry would talk when he was ready, and not a moment before. That was always their dynamic, and pushing at him would never work. He'd retreat deeper and deeper into himself, making both of them miserable. But it just wasn't _his_ nature to let someone he loved suffer. Every instinct he had demanded that he confront the problem head on and fix it.

He couldn't stop thinking about what could be in that letter, on that thumb drive, and it terrified him. The Eobard Thawne he'd met last year was a horror; highly intelligent and utterly without conscience. And then there was the monster who wore his face – the man who seduced Barry only to destroy him. He'd seen the videos, he'd seen the lust and the triumph, and even the memory of it enraged him.

Needing an outlet for his anger, he picked up a hammer and took it out on a set of frozen bearings. And of course, he ruined them. Harry carefully set the hammer down and swept the broken bits of metal into a pile in the middle of the workbench.

_What a clusterfuck._ He gripped the workbench, trying to regain control of his temper.

"Harry." From behind him, he heard Barry say his name, two syllables instead of three, spoken with love, with affection and respect and need. Two syllables that brought him incalculable joy.

He didn't turn around and a heartbeat later, Barry was holding him, giving him strength, much as he'd done for Barry last night. He leaned back, taking that strength, finding a measure of peace in this simple contact.

Barry put the drive and the letter on the workbench. "Can you do this with me?" 

Harry could hear the unspoken plea, _I need you to do this with me. I can't do it alone._ But rather than call attention to the neediness he knew his lover hated, he made it about his own curiosity and let out a deep breath. "I have to. If I don't, I'll never stop wondering, I'll never stop worrying."

Barry turned him around and rested his forehead on his. "Okay, thank you. But there's something I have to tell you first."

They sat down and he let Barry hold his hands. He waited, as patiently as he could.

"About a week after the Singularity, I found out that I'd inherited – or, more accurately, that I was the sole beneficiary of the Harrison Wells Living Trust and that S.T.A.R. Labs and everything that Thawne had was mine."

Harry nodded.

"For the next six months, I ignored all of the communications from the Trust's lawyers, until it was almost too late. The attorney you talked to yesterday, the one I saw yesterday, came to see me when I was at work at the CCPD. He gave me a thumb drive and told me that I needed to watch it; otherwise, the Lab would go into receivership."

"What was on that thumb drive?"

"A video that Wells – " Barry caught himself and shook his head in disgust. "Thawne had made. I don't know when, but weeks or months before we bargained, before I – I ended up not saving my mother's life. He had been prepared for his failure, for his death. This was the video where he confessed to killing my mother."

"Ah." Harry couldn't think of anything else to say.

"But he also had a message for me. He said that he wasn't the one I hated, he said that I'd never be happy. The implication was that I'd never be happy without him, that I hated myself."

"He tried to poison you. To cripple you."

Barry nodded sharply. "For months, that was all I could hear. I'd look at you and hear him saying that I'd never be happy. And I hated you for that. I knew you weren't him, but I couldn't make it stop. It was an endless loop in my head."

"But it did eventually stop, didn't it?"

Barry smiled and nodded. "Yeah. It got better. I learned that he was wrong about my ability to be happy without him."

"How?" Harry wondered at what he had done to drive that evil away. Barry's answer surprised him.

"Patty."

He'd forgotten about her, and blurted out, "She shot me."

"Which is not what I meant." Barry's smile broadened. "I was actually happy with her for a little while. Really happy."

Harry tried not to be jealous, and clearly failed.

"You were in no state to make me happy. You were a fucking miserable human being. You hated me, too. I was a broken tool, insufficient for the task at hand."

"I never said that!"

"But you thought it. You had to – you'd pinned all your hopes on me and I ended up getting my ass handed to me by Zoom. Literally."

"Okay, okay. Maybe I was disappointed in the Flash, but I never hated you."

"You just didn't think too much of me." Barry was smiling to take the sting out of those words.

"You grew on me."

"Yup." Barry leaned forward and kissed him. "I know who you are and I love you."

"And who am I?"

"Harry Chambers, who's more than just a dick."

He laughed, he had to. "Okay, okay. So, you think there's another message from Thawne on that thumb drive?" 

"I'm pretty sure of it."

"And you have to watch it?"

Barry nodded and handed him the letter. Harry read it and found himself furious all over again. 

"I've got another twenty-four hours left before the first penalty goes into effect." Barry showed him the timer on the drive. "But I think I need to get this over with."

"Do you want me to watch it instead?"

"No. No – this is something I need to do. And I'm sure that Thawne put some sort of code in the video to ensure that I was the one who watched it. It probably activates a webcam."

Harry fetched the laptop he'd set up in the garage to use as a reference tool. It was old, but not ancient. "This should work."

"Here we go." Barry plugged in the drive and Harry stood behind him, holding him. He tried to keep his arms loose, but when Thawne's face – _his face_ \- came on to the screen, his grip tightened.

_"Hi, Barry. I'd say it's good to see you again, but then, I'm not really seeing you, which is a pity. But I thought that it might be a nice thing to visit with you every once and a while, even though it's all kind of one-sided. Because if you're getting this video, it means I'm dead and I've failed._

_"Still."_ Thawne laughed. _"You lied, it seems. And I have to give you credit; you were a very effective liar. That surprised me. My Barry, all grown up, able to fool me the way I fooled you. There aren't many people who can get one over on me, but then, you are the Flash. And just another reason why I hated you."_ Despite the words, Thawne's voice was smooth, more amused than angry.

Harry kept trying to find distinctions between the man in the video and himself, and it was surprisingly difficult. Yes, he was smoother, his voice more polished, gentler, and there was a gleam of mischief in his eyes despite the underlying bitterness of his words. But there was nothing unrecognizable in this version of Eobard Thawne. Before Zoom, before Jesse had been kidnapped, before he'd turned into a desperate shadow of himself, he'd been just as smooth and polished, comfortable in front of worshipful crowds and adoring media. He knew how to play to the cameras, how to project an image of himself that was far different from reality. This man – this other him-but-not-him – was too much like his own public personality.

And he found that sickening.

_"But enough about the past. And the future. And failure. I have your attention and I should make the most of it. Did you manage to get your father out of prison? I hope so, because I really didn't care too much for ruining my good name. Except it wasn't my name, which you already knew. It did seem like the right thing to do – giving you the only thing you really ever wanted."_

The fake Wells paused and took off his glasses, he looked to the right before staring directly at the camera. _"Well, other than saving your mother's life. Hmm, that represents an interesting paradox. If you keep me from killing her, then you'll never become the Flash - at least in this timeline - which means I never have a reason to travel back in time to kill you or her. So I don't get stuck here, I don't steal Harrison Wells' life, and none of this ever happens. But I have stolen his life, you're somewhere – alive – listening to me because I'm dead. Quite fascinating. Time is a very dangerous thing, isn't it?"_ Thawne grinned.

Harry was getting nauseous from the building rage, but Barry put a hand over his and squeezed it, then murmured, "It's okay. This is nothing new."

_"Are you happy, Barry Allen? I don't think so. I have to wonder, who guides you now? Who validates you? Who pushes you to do better, go faster, who holds you in the night and tells you that you're beautiful and perfect? Who protects you? Iris West? She's lovely and holds a place in your heart, but I can't see it lasting in the long run – no matter what that article by-line says. She's not right for you."_

Thawne paused and shook his head. _"Barry, whether or not you want to admit it, you know the truth. You know that you need me. You know that you'll never succeed without me. That in the long run, sooner or later, you'll fall and fall hard, and I won't be there to pick you up._

_"That, Mr. Allen, is my revenge."_

Barry tapped the keyboard to pause the video, then turned to look at him. "You know he's just fucking with my head. Just as he did last time."

Harry managed to spit out an answer. "Yes."

"And you know I don't see you as a substitute for that?" He gestured towards the screen. "Please tell me you don't believe that I'm using you."

"No!" Harry knew that like he knew his own face. Except there was someone wearing his face, spewing poison. "Of course not." He leaned against Barry and reminded him. " _We_ began when I lost my temper over one of your foolish references to the 'other Wells', remember? I got angry that you were confusing us, and you were very quick to correct me that you weren't."

"How could I forget?"

"So, no – I absolutely don't believe you're using me. That I'm a substitute, but …" Harry shook his head at what he was about to admit. "I'm human, and listening to that piece of shit – "

"Is like hearing all your own worst fears come to life. He has a way of getting into your head."

Harry sighed. "Yes, he does."

"Shall we watch the rest and be done with this?"

Harry looked at the progress bar, there was about another two minutes of video left to play. "Yes." He pressed the spacebar and the video continued.

_"But I find this revenge strangely unsatisfying. Maybe because the game has not yet been fully played, and I may still win."_ Thawne smiled and again looked away from the camera and nodded. _"There's someone who wants to talk to you. I'm not sure if I should let him. After all, it's been fifteen years since he's had a voice and who knows what he'll say? He's become a pushy bastard and has been giving me a rather terrible headache the past few months."_

Harry went cold, and Barry whispered, "No, oh no."

The expression on Eobard Thawne's face changed. It softened and became wholly unfamiliar. The man fiddled with the glasses in his hands and blinked a few times before slipping the frames back on. He bit his lip and looked away from the camera, only this time, down to his hands. When he looked back up, there were tears in his eyes. Then he spoke, his voice soft, a little rushed, and altogether different from Thawne's self-assured patter. _"Barry Allen – I am so very sorry. I've tried to stop him, but I've never been strong enough. I tried to make him see that there was no reason to hate you. That he had your love. He should have been content with that. I am so sorry I couldn't do anything to stop this. And just so you know, I love you. I always have – you've been the sole point of joy in this miserable demi-existence."_ The man in the video pulled off his glasses and wiped his eyes. 

And then looked to the right again before turning back to the camera, grinning.

_"So, Barry. This is an interesting turn of events, wouldn't you say? You know what this means – if I'm dead, then he's dead, too. You've killed us both. Think on that, why don't you?"_ Thawne reached for the camera, then stopped. _"We'll talk again, someday soon."_

The screen went dark for a few seconds, then a message appeared stating that the Trust beneficiary had completed his obligations and no further actions would be taken at this time.

"No, no, no." Barry sat down and buried his head in his hands. "No, oh god, no."

"Stop it, Barry. Don't do this to yourself." Harry tried not to shout, his own rage bubbling back to the surface. 

"I never knew. I never even considered that he – the other Wells, the real Wells – was still alive in there."

"He wasn't. It was an act, Barry." 

Barry didn't believe him. "No, no – it wasn't. I saw his eyes – they were … different."

"Eobard Thawne was a master manipulator, he knew just what buttons to push, just what acts to play, to cause you the maximum amount of pain. You don't think he didn't practice that little speech for hours? That he didn't perform it in front of a mirror until it was just right?" He shook Barry, as if to get some sense into him. "The Harrison Wells of this Earth died seventeen years ago. Eobard Thawne killed him. You didn't."

Barry shook his head. "How can you be so certain?"

"Because I am." Even to his ears, his argument was weak and unconvincing. He rested his hands on Barry's shoulder, drawing him close. "And if – if the real Wells was in there, there was nothing you could have done. There was no way to save him."

Barry wrapped his arms around his waist, leaning his head against Harry's belly. "Harry…" 

There was so much pain in those two syllables, so much anguish that he couldn't prevent, he couldn't stop, he couldn't heal. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He let Barry cling to him, focusing on nothing but their shared sorrow until the laptop screen went dark, drawing him back into the world. As the computer went to sleep, the indicator light on the thumb drive blinked twice and went out, and Harry made a decision. He drew away from Barry, pulled the drive out of the port and tossed it on the workbench. He picked up the hammer he'd used earlier and brought it down once, twice, a third time, the blows shattering the stillness of the autumn afternoon. He swept the shattered remnants from the workbench into the garbage can.

"There, it's done. It's gone. Forget about it." Hands shoved in his pockets, he stared at Barry, willing him to believe those words.

"Harry, what are you doing?"

"I destroyed it."

Barry's lips twitched in a facsimile of humor. "Whatever you do, don't plan on becoming a stage magician." 

"Excuse me?" Harry kept his hands clenched deep in his pockets and casually shrugged.

"Give it up." Barry held out a hand, palm up. 

"I don't know what you're talking about." _Shit._

"I'm a speedster, remember? I see things in slow motion. Slight-of-hand doesn't work on me, you can't move fast enough. You pocketed the drive." He made a beckoning gesture with his outstretched hand. "Give it to me, Harry."

Harry sighed and turned the drive over.

"Why do this?"

"I wanted to look at it frame-by-frame, I wanted to be able to prove to you that it was all an act. That you are grieving for nothing."

"It doesn't work like that. I _know_ I couldn't save him, but I'm not grieving for nothing. He was real, and maybe he was what made Eobard so different from the one we met last year." Barry paused and shook his head. "Although …"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Although?"

"Eobard was a fucking bastard when I went back in time to get the secret to unlocking my speed. Once he knew who I was, there were no masks, there was no softness, no affection or pleasure in my company. No care or concern. There was nothing of the man I had – " Barry paused and gave him a shamed look. "The man I had once thought I loved. He was the same sadistic monster we'd met, just wearing a different face."

Harry sat down, feeling drained and old. "So, conclusion?"

"Either you're right, or we'll never know." Barry fiddled with the drive, then put it in the palm of his hand and started to vibrate. In a few seconds, the plastic casing cracked and started to fall apart, revealing the drive's inner workings. Barry increased the vibrations and the circuit board and the silicon chip disintegrated into powder. 

Barry got up and turned his palm over the garbage can and let the dust fall away. He rubbed his hands on the side of his pants and shook his head. "I think, for the sake of both our sanities, I have to accept that you're right. Eobard Thawne lived to destroy me. He's dead and gone and I'd be a fool to let him win now."

"You will grieve, though." That wasn't a question.

"I can't help but grieve."

"And so will I," Harry admitted as he pulled Barry close. "What we're doing at S.T.A.R. Labs, rebuilding it, giving it a new purpose, think of that as the legacy to the real Harrison Wells of this Earth. Everything we do will be – to us – in his name."

Barry sighed and relaxed against him. "And this is why I love you."

Harry sighed and thought, _No more, no less than I love you._

__

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said in the original Author's Notes that this was not _really_ connected to the Seduction of Barry Allen stories, but you can read the appearance of Original Harrison Wells as an extension of [The Slow Dance of Madness](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5731213). Or it could simply be Eobard being unutterably cruel.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me at my tumblr [Obscene Circus Ponies](http://elrhiarhodan.tumblr.com/), or on my old school (and much beloved) [LiveJournal](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/) account.


End file.
